From The Other Side
by thedancingcrown
Summary: Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Hawkeye make an interesting, albeit unusual, discovery whilst investigating a former State Alchemist. (Eventual Ed/AlxOC) Rated T for a range of raging rainbow-coloured languages.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Human Transmutation

* * *

There formed a great big ball of nauseous stress in the pit of my stomach as the feeling seeped back into my body when I woke from what had felt like a deep, trance-like sleep, and realized: _this is not my bed_.

* * *

Their footsteps echoed about the vacant rooms and still, empty hallways, despite their delicate footwork, as they swiftly scoured each area, weapons held low but ready. Looking for something – _some_ form of life in this decrepit old building. There seemed to be none, however – made apparent not only by the sullen stillness that filled the spaces between stone walls, but also the thick, grey layers of dust coating old wooden furniture in the kitchen; the rust in the sink where a stream of water had persistently fell from the tap, becoming less and less, until it finally dried up; holes in the stuffed cushions tied haphazardly to the stiff backs of old chairs to keep them steady when you sat – for, once, someone had sat there – and the foul stench of rotten fruits and vegetables from the pantry in the corner, or worse, the rancid vermin smell of dead mice and rats in the cupboard under the sink, its door not shut completely.

In hindsight, his men hadn't needed to step down the hall, checking the rooms beyond this one, because just by the look of the kitchen, Roy Mustang could tell there was no soul here. There hadn't been for some time.

"Clear!" one of the men called from within the house. Mustang hadn't moved further than the kitchen table. He saw no need.

"Clear," another voice announced, closer down the hall than the previous one. Of course it was clear.

"That is an awful smell…" his Lieutenant commented from beyond his shoulder, and Mustang shrugged, and sniffed.

"I don't smell a thing…" he muttered thickly, rubbing his forefinger under his nose.

"Well, if you hadn't caught that cold, sir…" she said quietly.

"You mean if I hadn't gone and done my duty, going up against McDougal?" he scowled at the doorframe ahead.

"I mean if you hadn't gotten wet in the process, sir."

"Clear!"

"Are we still on that?!" he snapped, spinning around to face her perfectly calm, collected, stoic expression. He flinched back, however, noting the subtle glare in her eyes. She shut them with a barely audible sigh, however, and opened her mouth to say something when a call from within the house interrupted, "Colonel!"

Roy swung about, immediately alert, and marched out the kitchen, fingers poised to snap.

"There's something you should see!"

Behind him, the Lieutenant followed. Out in the hall one of the waiting officers pointed down the way to their right, where, within the dark recesses of the passage, was a door waiting half opened for them. "Lieutenant Havoc's down there, sir…" the soldier offered, and Mustang gave him a curt nod as he passed, crossing the hall to the sound of faintly squeaking floorboards beneath his feet. His were the only footsteps he heard, however, and for a faint-hearted second thought his Lieutenant had abandoned him to the darkness, until he heard her say, "You walk too loudly, Colonel." Of course _she _wouldn't make a sound, even on an old floor.

"Not like it matters, Lieutenant," he replied irritably. "There's no one here."

"There's certainly _something_ down there, sir."

"You got that right."

Mustang froze in his step, just stopping himself from snapping his fingers and causing a flame, when the door not two paces away unexpectedly swung all the way open with a quiet _thump_ against the wall, and Second Lieutenant Havoc appeared, shaking in one hand what seemed to be a flashlight.

"But on second thought, Colonel," the man continued around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, scowling at the flash that wasn't working. "Maybe it's more a job for your First Lieutenant."

"Oh?" Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," replied Havoc, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I believe we might have found something of what we were looking for, in addition to a strange little present…"

Mustang narrowed his eyes. So cryptic. He spared Havoc's flashlight a glance. Despite the Second Lieutenant's call, and the statement, there was no urgency in his voice or his movements. Whatever 'little present' was beyond that door, in addition to what they had been looking for in the first place, it was of no great significance it seemed. In fact, Havoc was more concerned with the device in his hands, which was refusing to come back to life no matter how the Lieutenant shook or struck it against his palm. "…Damn batteries…"

"Lieutenant?" Mustang had turned to his First, who still stood silently beyond his shoulder, and had made no comment on Havoc declaring the job was best suited for her. She took the lead past Havoc without any preamble, and pulled her own flashlight from a pocket as she went, switching it on and lighting the steps beyond the door to navigate her way down.

Mustang made to follow her, but paused long enough to snatch Havoc's flashlight from his hands and chuck it over his shoulder. "Watch my back," he grumbled, suddenly sour he hadn't ignored Havoc and gone down first anyway. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder what was possibly down there that made it better for Hawkeye to take the lead – and then he thought about why he hadn't wrung it out of Havoc a minute ago in the first place.

Mentally he sighed. It had been a long day. There was a funny smell in the air he couldn't quite place and thought he might have just been imagining it, what with his _cold_ stuffing up his nose and cluttering his brain with an all too familiar tinge that only meant a headache was coming, so he couldn't think clear enough to make his team's decision for them instead of just going along with their suggestions.

That was it. The cold. Damn cold. Damn McDougal. Damn it all. That was the solution.

Just damn it all, yes.

When his First Lieutenant abruptly came to a halt, Mustang had barely a moment's notice to stop walking himself, or else he would have walked right into her. Havoc behind him actually did. Roy glared over his shoulder at what he hoped was Havoc's outline, as the man muttered an apology to his Colonel and, Mustang would hazard a guess because he could not see a thing in this dark, rubbed the back of his head; lightly chewed his cigarette.

"Stay here, Colonel," Hawkeye said quietly, grabbing back his attention. "Don't do anything stupid."

The light of her flash was taking a steady route across the floor two paces ahead of her, as she stepped closer into the room, until it finally came to rest on what Roy might have sworn was—

"Is that a—?"

"Yes it is," Havoc confirmed solemnly.

"Is she…?"

Havoc looked to be nodding before he realized the Colonel could not actually see it very well, and spoke his confirmation instead, only to be contradicted by the First Lieutenant, "She's breathing."

"What?" genuine surprise, tinged with a slight horrified note, filled Havoc's tone. "That's not – she had no pulse!"

Hawkeye was sitting beside the seemingly lifeless form of a very pale, barely dressed girl, Mustang had only caught half a glimpse of in the light of his First Lieutenant's flash as she'd sat down to inspect the body a moment ago. Now the flash lay discarded, lighting up dark strands of hair, while Hawkeye pulled off the blue coat of her uniform to slip it onto the girl instead. "Well, she has one now," Hawkeye said curtly as she did so, sparing the pair of them – or Havoc specifically – a glance over her shoulder Mustang was grateful he could not make out exactly.

Then his senses caught up to him and he ordered briskly, "Fetch a blanket, Havoc. Now!"

"Yessir," Havoc muttered quickly, the sound of his boots against the old wooden staircase the only indication he was sprinting away.

Mustang came closer. "How does she look, Lieutenant?"

"She's terribly cold. I can't make out a sign of concussion, though, or…" Hawkeye replied, lighting up the girl's pale, sunken features. She couldn't be older than…Full Metal, Mustang thought. The light shifted as Hawkeye manoeuvred the girl's head to check for blood or injury. By her frustrated 'Tch', he concluded she found none. Disturbing.

Then Roy caught sight of something on the floor, as Hawkeye's light shifted, bobbing off the girl and back while she worked, trying to wake the girl, and Roy squinted his eyes like that would help him see better. Fingers twitching curiously, temptingly, Mustang took a step back and raised his one hand above his head, bringing his arm down in an arch as he snapped his fingers. Flames followed his lead, arching above their heads, making Hawkeye look back and up at him in what only he would notice as a state of alarm – to anyone else watching it might have been only a casual glance, a vague acknowledgement to what he was doing. He didn't really look at her though; his eyes were on the floor.

The flames winked out in seconds, but not before engulfing half the room in a brilliant, bright light, making the white chalk lines across the cold stone floor beneath their feet clearly visible for a moment. Mustang took a sharp breath, recognizing the circle, and didn't bother to wait for his flames to wink out all the way before he'd marched across half the circle to take Hawkeye by the arm, saying fiercely as he did so, "Lieutenant – get away from that thing!"

He had forced her to her feet, making her drop the girl in the process, however involuntarily, and from the resounding _thunk_ Roy thought idly if the girl – 'girl' – didn't have a head injury she might well have at least a bump, now. He backed up beyond the edge of the circle, by indication of Hawkeye's flash's flailing light, uncoordinated as its owner was pulled swiftly along without much time to protest or catch her footing decently until her superior officer steadied her at his side. "Colonel," the almost frustrated, firm use of his title contrasted the previous, startled, breathless exhale of the word when he'd pulled her up initially, and as before, Mustang ignored it in favour of getting his point across. He plucked the flashlight from her hand, not noticing until later he'd nearly taken her whole hand with him, not having seen precisely where he'd set his fingers until after he'd already done it, and pointedly lit up the ground beneath their feet. "Do you see that, Lieutenant?"

She looked down, and Roy snapped his fingers above his head again, creating a burst of flame just big enough to illuminate the entire circle for a second. "See what that is?"

"It's not…?" the question died on her lips, her eyes still plastered to the circle even though all she could see of it now was a smudged chalk line in a pool of dim light.

"Yes," Roy said, diminishing the effect of his tone by sniffing inelegantly. The cold was making his nose itchy and runny. "A human transmutation circle."

Hawkeye had her eye on the circle another second before she said, "Then this girl…" she could not finish the statement, it seemed, and Roy didn't blame her. He was a little startled himself.

They were still in the dark, with only Hawkeye's flashlight for company when the little circle of light was suddenly swallowed by an orange brightness shining from behind, elongating Mustang and Hawkeye's shadows across the circle toward the girl's body. She hadn't once moved.

"Found a decent blanket, and a nifty torch, Colonel," Havoc announced, coming down the stairs and sounding like he was taking two at a time.

"Isn't there a light down here?" Mustang just now had the thought come to mind, and Havoc gave him an odd look.

"I already said the bulb's out – tried it the first time I came down," his Second Lieutenant replied as he took the last step, and Mustang turned toward him, as did Hawkeye, who took the blanket, and stood with it for a moment.

"Don't recall that."

"Your cold is getting the better of you, sir," Hawkeye commented quietly. "You should have seen a doctor."

Mustang shot her a sideways scowl, before turning to Havoc, taking the torch from him as he said, "Clear out the men, Lieutenant, and take note of anything else that could be a lead upstairs – we'll come back in the morning and give this place another sweep. In the meanwhile," he turned, meaning to address his First Lieutenant, only to find she was no longer beside him. "Lieutenant!" he spun all the way around, somehow not entirely surprised to find her at the girl's side once more. "I told you to stay away from that—"

"With respect, Colonel," she said calmly, and stood to face him, having already covered the girl with the blanket up to her chin. "The only description you have of what the product of human transmutation—" Mustang vaguely took note of Havoc's startled, perplexed little gasp behind him at the mention of those words, "—looks like, are the words of two ten year olds and their friend's grandmother. As I recall, you said their words were 'not even human'. This," she said pointedly, "Is definitely _human_."

Mustang was quiet, his eyes narrowed at his Lieutenant. She was too stubborn for her own good, always had been. He could plainly see this girl was human – or, human-looking, at least – but that did not explain it. There was a human transmutation circle and she was right in the middle of it. Roy took a second to contemplate this from the beginning – perhaps Hawkeye was onto something, after all. Perhaps he had been – dare he even think it – a bit hasty. Trust her not to jump to conclusions.

He took a breath.

"She could have been the alchemist here," Mustang mused quietly, "Which might explain the state she's in, unless she never got to transmuting and something else happened to her instead. After all, we weren't expecting to find a teenage girl. Lieutenant Havoc—" the addressed subordinate shifted his feet to attention in acknowledgement and Mustang continued, "This is a matter not to be discussed – with anyone. Find us a doctor in town, who knows to keep his mouth shut, and then call for Doctor Knox; tell him to take the first train down to East City. I don't trust anyone else."

"Got it, Boss," Havoc probably gave him a swift salute before taking the stairs up, but the Colonel wasn't looking anymore.

"Give it a minute and then we'll take her to the car…" Mustang said. Hawkeye nodded briskly, turned on her heel, and crouched beside the girl again.

Roy wondered if he should suggest carrying the girl, not that he doubted Hawkeye could do it herself, but – and then she spared him the trouble, "I'll carry her to the car, sir," and was already picking the girl up one arm under her knees, the other round her shoulders. "She's terribly thin…kind of like she hasn't eaten in a while. Her breathing's steady, though. Her pulse seems normal."

He said nothing, only watched as his Lieutenant got easily to her feet, the girl in her arms, and crossed the circle towards him – and then he saw it. On the far wall of the basement, glowing slightly was an array. Not just any array – his own.

Wide-eyed, for so many reasons, Mustang threw the torch aside, as far as he possibly could, and dashed forward, nearly dived his Lieutenant to the ground as the torch, barely released from his fingers, exploded wildly, releasing tongues of flames, licking through the suddenly hot, oxygen-deprived air, at the walls, the wooden beams of the ceiling, the staircase. Within seconds there was smoke everywhere, and the only reason Roy knew where Hawkeye was, was because he was clutching her arm, crouched next to her on the ground, and feeling the girl's head bobbing against his arm. Hawkeye was clutching her tightly by the feel of her stiff muscles under his grip.

Everything around them was engulfed in the fire, the air too thick to breathe, and Mustang's damn stuffy nose already making it hard to begin with. He sneezed, and nearly missed the barely audible sound from behind – a laugh; he swore that was what it was. One maniacal cackle. Someone was certainly back there through the fire. Someone had activated the array on the wall. His array. What the hell?

"Colonel," Riza said, choked really, and Mustang's distracted mind caught up, realizing he had to put out the fire not only for their sakes, but also if he wanted to find out whom this mystery maniac with the use of Fire Alchemy was.

Roy waved his free hand through the air, though he didn't really need to, and the flames surrounding them subsided swiftly – though a touch slower than they normally would have. He was feeling tired. He'd been tired all day, to tell the truth. From the train ride to scouring the town and being led in circles by secretive, wary villagers who wanted little to nothing to do with the military, Mustang had been having a more than _off_ day, and when they finally found a lead, and a route out to this sad little house, he'd just known it had been a fruitless effort after all.

That, at least, was proving to be untrue. However, he'd already had enough for one day – or three, when you sat down and really thought about it – and now there was a painful, genuine ache as opposed to the mildly dull tinge, throbbing inside his head.

"Are you alright?" he asked Riza.

"Yes, sir," she said, a might breathlessly. But that was all she said, even though he thought she might say something more. But then, what was there to say other than the obvious? Whatever was going through her mind, she knew it was going through his as well. There was no need to voice the thought. Riza hadn't seen the array, though, having had her back to the wall. She was undoubtedly perplexed about it, and Roy could not imagine what she might be thinking had caused that explosion, but he knew what it was, knew there was someone else here with them, in the dark.

To tell her, then, or keep it to himself? Either one would warrant some kind of explanation, but one course of action would at least get her and the girl out of here safely. He could lag behind a bit, find out who else was in the room.

"Let's move, Lieutenant, it's probably not very safe down here," he said thus, having made up his mind, and held onto her arm as they stood.

"Where is my flashlight, sir?" she asked, and Roy had to pause and cringe at the answer – "I…think I dropped it."

Somewhere between throwing the torch away and rushing to her side, Mustang had all but forgotten he'd still had the device in his other hand. However, he'd lost it, and the thing wasn't turned on anymore; there was no abandoned light colouring the floor somewhere.

Squinting through the dark as though it might help, which it didn't really, Mustang practically led Hawkeye to the staircase, insisting on her taking the steps up first, all the while dismissing creating a light with a wave of his hand she couldn't see, and muttering something about there probably being a gas leak somewhere, though he wasn't sure that would suffice for an excuse.

"Colonel—"

Truth be told, since he knew about the array, he knew whoever was doing alchemy down there would need a spark to light a fire, and his gloves were the only things that could – well, the only convenient things in the dark. The alchemist must also know that, having undoubtedly seen Roy snap his fingers to create the flames he'd used to see the transmutation circle on the ground with. It was likely they could manipulate his spark as well as he could, and although Mustang was fairly sure he could probably deflect or distinguish such an attack – having never before had the need to – he would feel a lot safer trying it in the absence of his Lieutenant. And let's not forget the girl.

"Let's just get her to the car, Lieutenant," he reached around Riza to give the unclosed door a decent shove, revealing the long hallway and the distant kitchen light beckoning them to safety, and then looked down at her partially lit face with a pointed expression – as pointed as he could manage. She never even flinched.

"I'm not stupid, sir. You think something else is down there."

Mustang caught himself halfway through rolling his eyes in consternation, and scowled at the doorframe over her head.

"You're going to need back-up, sir."

"You're carrying a civilian, Lieutenant," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "And I've sent everyone else away. It's probably nothing, anyway."

"That wasn't 'nothing', sir," she argued, and he met her tired, frustrated eyes at last. She was suspicious. Probably that was his fault. "You can accompany me to the car, and I will come right back with you."

"And leave her there, Lieutenant? Unaided? Anything could happen."

She glanced away, the tiniest frown on her face. Clearly this needed investigating. Obviously it made more sense for him to go down than her. Someone had to stay with the girl. It was just the two of them. This needed to be resolved now – by tomorrow whoever was down there might already have left. Perhaps this was whom they had been trying to find all this time.

He could almost see the gears turning in her head, but even she had to see there was no other way out of this.

Then she narrowed her eyes, her lips forming a thin line as she pressed them together – a usual sign of frustration.

He tried not to swallow. If he survived whatever was down there, he'd get a talking-to about having sent Havoc away. Havoc himself would get a talking-to no matter what happened to Roy in the next ten minutes, about clearly not having checked the room as thoroughly as he should have.

Though it was probably a bad idea, Roy pushed his luck, "Come on, Hawkeye – you and I both want to know who and what is back down there. This suddenly turned into more than just a rogue alchemist and possible human transmutation. Now it's a little personal."

If she was suspicious about it before, he'd practically just confirmed it for her now. Very deliberately, she didn't look back at him, "Very well, sir… But only because I trust you to come out of there in one piece."

"Understood, Lieutenant. You have my word."

"Good," she marched down the hallway in quick, brisk strides, only looking back at him once she'd turned toward the kitchen. It wasn't a look so much as a glare – one Roy knew all too well.

_Come back alive if you don't want to get shot._

Sometimes he was sure if he ever did die, short of trying human transmutation, she would just kill herself – but heaven forbid – to find him in the afterlife and kill him again out of pure frustration that he made it so difficult for her to do her job. Because, he was sure, however he died, it was going to be his own fault despite her efforts.

Rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully, Mustang turned back to the dark stairs, wondering why he hadn't taken his flashlight after all.

He took the steps down carefully, one hand trailing down the wall as he went, and thought about what was the best way to approach this. What would Hawkeye do? Not storm in, guns blazing, believe it or not. She only shot people when she needed to, and even then, she wasn't fond of it.

Talk. That was the more sensible route to take. Be vigilant, be alert, but talk.

"I know you're down here," he said thus, a little more than halfway, he thought, down the stairs. "And I know what you can do…" he paused for a moment, trying to listen for fabric shifting, footsteps, or even that crazy laugh again. But he didn't hear a sound. "So can I – but you know that, right?" Silence. "I'm going to snap my fingers now…but I just want to talk. Understand? I won't attack you, so don't do anything stupid." Still no response and Mustang thought it was going to be embarrassing – but at least he was on his own – if it turned out there was no one down here and he was talking to the air.

Gritting his teeth, Roy held out his hand, not entirely sure how his unknown adversary might try to manipulate his spark, but mentally prepared to counter it as best he could when the time came. He snapped his fingers, tapped into his array, and created a quick burst of flame smouldering in the air above his hand. It was bright, but not enough to light up the whole room and hovered just long enough for something else to happen to it.

Nothing did.

The flame winked out.

Still being cautious about it, Mustang descended the rest of the way downstairs, and felt at the wooden banister, looking for a weak point he could break off and use as a torch. Finding one of the supports to be a little wobbly, Roy kicked it loose with his foot and felt it over. It was a little charred at one end, having probably been caught in the flames earlier. He snapped his fingers, set the end alight and held it out to assess his position in the new orange hue surrounding him.

He couldn't see the far reaches of the basement, though, so there was nothing else for it apart from heading closer. He took his steps ahead with caution, trying to watch every direction, but keeping his gaze coming back to where he was certain he had seen the array on the wall before – until he could see it in the light of the torch.

He was past the circle on the floor now, several paces from the wall still, but he could see it clear enough – painted on the stone with a now dry crimson liquid that could only be blood. A red handprint touched the outer ring of the circle, and slid into a fallen arch along the wall until it was faded completely where the hand had fallen away. Roy stepped closer, lowering his torch and steeling himself for whatever he might see next.

A hand, pale, wrinkled, and bathed in blood, lay on the cold stone floor, limp and unmoving. More blood stained the wrist, the cuff of a shirt; a shoulder lying in a pool of red; hair, lengthy, dark blonde dyed scarlet and tangled in a mess that clearly hadn't been combed in years. Roy swallowed, eyeing the face – this was the man. This was definitely the one they'd been looking for. Rayne. What had happened here?

His eyes were closed, seeming almost serene on his old unmoving face. His other arm lay spread out to the other side, palm up and just as bloody. Mustang took in the rest of him, gasped, taking a startled half-step back, before he caught himself, and his torch, which he'd nearly dropped. Thinking of, the wood was quickly burning out. He shrunk the flame a bit, dousing half the body at his feet in darkness, which was fine – seeing it once, was bad enough; he didn't need to keep looking at it.

By the look of the man's severed legs, almost at the hip, Roy thought it was safe to assume human transmutation had been _attempted_ here, if nothing else. Surely, it had not succeeded. Certainly, that girl wasn't the product of a person successfully brought back to life…right? If that was the case, a pair of legs could not have been the only price paid. Something else was going on here, and that girl would be the only one capable of explaining it.

_He_ certainly wasn't talking anymore, he'd already bled to death – Roy thought, but then looked down at the man's face again to find his eyes were open. Wide and deep grey, looking as startled at finding someone there as Roy felt at seeing him still alive. And then the man smiled – just barely, but still – and his startled eyes didn't seem so startled anymore. They seemed devilish, evil.

His lips moved, his voice coming out in throaty gasps of sound Roy could not make out clearly.

"I…ju…wa…n…u…o…ee…it…" then he clapped his hands.

* * *

It was becoming chillier outside with every passing second, Riza thought. She stood outside the car, her back turned to the passenger door of the vehicle, the girl lain down across the backseat, wrapped up in the blanket and Riza's jacket. She regretted not being able to offer the girl any form of decent pants, or a skirt, as opposed to the very short shorts she'd been found in. Pointlessly, Riza found herself wondering what kind of solution the Colonel would come up with for female officers freezing their legs off in winter once they wore his ridiculous mini-skirts. That's an idea he'd come up with rather lazily some years back, for when he became the Fuhrer. He'd actually not told her, personally, she'd accidentally overheard him talking to Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes.

Funny, the kind of things one remembers when worried – because, of course, she really was worried about the man, alone, or with something worse, in that old house, and her not there to protect him.

It was a small house, rather like a cottage really, made of smooth grey stone overgrown with thick vines crawling up from the surrounding shrubbery that covered every inch of the lower wall. There had been only one door, that of the kitchen, and a trapdoor round the side that probably led to the basement she'd been in moments ago, but it had been so covered in foliage, creepers entangling the handlebars, criss-crossing, holding it tight, that a few tugs was hardly enough to move the doors. If anyone was inside, they weren't coming out that way.

So the Colonel had ordered Havoc and his team inside first.

The house was small from the outside. One kitchen, one bathroom, probably just one bedroom all neatly tucked into a square. The windows were grimy, their sills painted with dust, their hinges and handles rusted. According to the villagers no one had lived here in years, but it had taken all of Mustang's resolve to coax even that out of anyone, and then some before they told him where the place was. The road here wasn't really a road anymore at all, what with every other season's rain eroding the dirt paths, and the growing woods around the place. It was the perfect hide-away for an old, wanted alchemist. Hyam Rayne had been a State Alchemist nearly thirty years ago – the Tempest Alchemist – and had resigned after an accident caused by him, resulted in the death of his brother. This left him the closest living relative to one Lee-Elle Rayne, his niece.

Though he was no longer part of the state, Rayne had continued his alchemy, and had been investigated on several occasions for the suspected attempt at human transmutation, but all investigations brought up nothing. If he was researching, or attempting for that matter, to bring someone back to life, he was covering his tracks especially well. Then for a while he fell off the map, until more recently. It wasn't for human transmutation this time however; it was mainly reports of misconduct of alchemy use and if Edward Elric and his brother weren't already on an assignment in Lior, the Colonel might have sent them to look into it. As it was, however, he needed someone else to take care of it – not necessarily a State Alchemist, so he'd sent some other officers. It was only when their leads eventually came up indicating Hyam Rayne's involvement that the Colonel decided to take it over personally.

Nearing the end of the day he'd been so prickled by the villagers' uncooperativeness, in addition to the cold he'd been nursing over a week, and then also by himself for taking on this case in the first place, that he'd insisted on storming the house before the sun set and getting it over with already. There was little means of stopping him once he'd set his mind to a thing this way short of knocking him out or shooting him, both of which she'd seriously considered, and thus they'd come, and carried on vigilantly through the underbrush of the woods, even though the sun had set an hour before.

Reaching the house in a blaze of glory, the Colonel's spirits had fell considerably upon seeing the state of the place, and Riza thought, like he'd probably been thinking himself, that the old man in the village who had eventually been the most cooperative in revealing the house's location, had probably not been lying when he added Rayne was definitely not there. He'd been seen in the village, and seen headed towards the house, yes, but he'd returned and then vanished from the village and was probably on his way to the next town already, having caught wind of the military's inquiries.

Considering Rayne's background, in hindsight, it was perfectly logical for the Colonel to have thought the girl in the backseat was the product of some human transmutation attempt, especially considering the circle. But Riza had looked the girl over, and there was nothing suspicious about her. She had no injuries, no broken bones, and no grotesque transformations. The only thing she did have was a circular carving on the back of her left shoulder, the pattern intricate, precisely and deeply carved into her skin, the blood already dried, creating a thick scab. Despite this, the wound was no more than several hours old, and however many blood she'd lost, whoever did this to her, had cleaned her up. This might well be some transmutation circle, but until the girl woke up – again – there was no way of knowing that and no reason to suspect she was dangerous.

She'd been – asleep, Riza supposed – until after Riza had left the little cottage and wandered to where the car was. Her and the Colonel's was the only one still remaining, Havoc having dutifully obliged and sent the soldiers away, leaving himself to find a doctor.

The girl hadn't stirred, thus surprising Riza when she looked down to find the girl's eyes were open, if just barely, and she was staring up into the Lieutenant's face. Riza had stopped walking at once, her attention on the girl's bleak face. Her lips parted, she shifted slightly in the officer's arms, and Riza spoke quietly to reassure her, telling her she was alright, but had been found passed out and was being taken to a doctor. The girl had blinked several times, as though clearing her vision, and when she took in the Lieutenant, her eyes widened as though unbelieving. She'd looked around, clearly perplexed, but made no move to escape Riza's arms. Thus the Lieutenant had taken her to the car, awkwardly opening the door whilst still holding the girl, who had started shaking her head and frowning profusely when Riza asked to set her down, before gently placing her onto the backseat, all the while assuring her that she wasn't going anywhere, but she couldn't keep holding onto the girl either. She sat stiffly, and without protest, as Riza looked her over one more time, checking her eyes, her head once more, feeling her pulse again… Every following attempt at getting the girl to say her name at least, was made in vain, until the girl had apparently, finally, had enough of the Lieutenant's questions, and thus lay down on the backseat, wrapped in the blanket up to her ears, refusing to do anything more other than close her eyes and faintly shake her head.

Riza had told her she'd be right around the car, in front of the other door, where she had to watch the house, waiting for her superior officer. If the girl heard she gave no indication.

Riza had thought about putting the girl in the car and then heading back to the house when she first came down the way toward the vehicle. There was no one here, after all, except for her and the Colonel and whatever was down with him in the basement – so what could possibly happen to the girl? However, since the girl had woken up, Riza _couldn't _very well leave her on her own – for one thing, she seemed somewhat out of it and might do something stupid, or run away, and for another, she didn't seem to want to be alone. Riza had turned several times to look through the window during the past, probably five, minutes, and each time the girl was staring up at her with wide grey eyes, like she was just making sure Riza was still there.

Her respite came in the form of Lieutenant Havoc, however, who stumbled out of the brush, making a lot of noise, abruptly halting with his hands raised when he found himself facing Hawkeye's gun. She lowered it with a sigh, "What are you doing back here, Lieutenant?"

He gave a feeble little laugh, rubbing the back of his head. He was without his cigarette, she noted. "Funny story that – the car, er…ran out of gas…"

Such incompetence – first the flashlight and now his car…actually, it went back even farther than that. He'd been the cause of their delay catching the train to town, he'd been at the other end of the firing arm responsible for a flat tyre, it was his cigarette – who else's? – in the Colonel's coffee cup, and it was his 'detour' that got one of their vehicles stuck between two trees on the way here.

She _should_ cut him some slack – in part this was likely the result of some or another break-up, the rest was probably the Colonel's fault, whose bad mood and own bad luck he blamed his cold for, was rubbing off on everyone, even Riza every now and again.

Besides, Havoc's incompetence couldn't have come at a better time.

"So I came back hoping to catch a ride," he was still speaking, sauntering over. "So, where's the Colonel?" he eyed the front window of the vehicle, checking to see if the Colonel was there. Riza had barely heard him however, coincidentally answering his question when she started speaking almost right on top of him, "Colonel's still inside – the girl's in the back, watch her, I'm going back in."

She was marching off to the house, again pulling her gun from its holster even as he spoke, "Why's he still in there?"

She made no reply, partly because she wasn't planning on it, and didn't think Havoc had expected her to in the first place, but mainly because she was distracted by the figure bursting through the doorway ahead, taking the steps down at a quick pace.

"Colonel!" she ran, but barely made it several steps forward before the blast pushed her off her feet, flying through the air, before she landed hard on her back, the air knocked right out of her. Havoc was beside her, helping her to sit up before she'd thought so far as doing it herself, but she ignored his question – "You alright?" – and gestured the house instead.

"The Colonel, Havoc—" was all she could manage, through quick breaths and the spinning feel in her brain. She might have hit her head, too.

"Right," Havoc was apparently as confident as she that nothing was immediately important about her condition, for he was on his feet, sprinting across the yard at once. She blinked, clearing her vision of a hazy fog, and watched the rising smoke drift lazily into the starry night sky. She lowered her gaze, blinked again at the brightness of the fire, engulfing the entire little house, until she saw the pair of them just ahead – Havoc had the Colonel's one arm about his shoulders and he was being half-dragged along by his Second Lieutenant, but he was definitely alive, and conscious.

Riza couldn't help but sigh, and came rather ungracefully to her feet, catching herself before she tripped. She took a moment to straighten herself, before she hurried over to them, taking the Colonel's other arm around her shoulder. "I told you that was a bad idea," she hissed under her breath.

"I'm aware," he said, his voice strained, "Lieutenant."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Waking Up

* * *

Colonel Mustang shifted uncomfortably on the thin mattress of the bed, trying to force some feeling back into his right leg, which was propped up on an old pillow, and had promptly gone to sleep after twenty minutes. By the light of the old lamp on the dresser against the opposite wall, Mustang could see the face of an even older clock, suggesting at least thirty minutes had passed since he and his Lieutenants had knocked on the doctor's door. The clock had a way of ticking twice in one spot every time the thin hand got to ten, and again at five to twelve, and Mustang had given up trying to figure out how behind that made it in the last, what he assumed to be, five minutes.

Scowling at the clock, he all but barked at his First Lieutenant, who was poised, back straight, staring ahead at nothing, on a wooden chair by the foot of his bed, "What time is it?"

She gave her watch a glance, and replied briskly, "Five minutes later than the last time you asked. Sir."

He groaned.

"You were told to lie down, Colonel," she added, after a quick glance at him.

"There's no need, I feel much better," he said dismissively, and stifled a sneeze. "We should be heading back to East City, not…hanging around here doing nothing," he waved his hand through the air and scowled at the room at large. The whitewashed walls were a murky cream colour, the curtains on a small window old and thin, and his bed had no sheets. It was depressing – if any patients had ever recovered from whatever illness they had in _this_ room, Mustang would award each and every one of them with a medal for unyielding valour. Assuming he made it out himself. "Honestly – you looked her over, Lieutenant, and it only took five minutes, what could you possibly have missed that's taking so long?"

It was meant rather rhetorically, of course, and by way of letting off steam. But Hawkeye answered questions as she wanted, regardless, "I'm not a doctor, Colonel. Perhaps I missed something, after all…"

That had the distinct tone of wanting to add something. He raised an eyebrow at her, though she wasn't looking at him, and mulled it over on his tongue.

Lieutenant Havoc had hauled him up off the ground, his uniform now grass-stained and dirty, and his ankle twisted besides, and had all but dragged him away from the burning building until Hawkeye had caught up, slipped one of his arms round her shoulders to help him to the car – but, he insisted, not before they turn him around so he could put out the fire. He could only hope he'd done enough to stop all of it, since they refused to take him all the way around the house, or inside for that matter, to make sure. Everything of value in there was likely burnt to a crisp anyway, losing anything more wouldn't make it any worse. What was of import now was getting him – and the girl – to a doctor.

The girl, whom he saw was wide-awake in the backseat, staring at them with wide, fearful-looking grey eyes, wouldn't move to let him take half the seat though, so the Lieutenants plopped him down in the front passenger seat and Havoc took the wheel. The girl only shifted for Hawkeye, who had, apparently, won over her trust – or part thereof, at least.

Havoc meandered the car through the forest with more ease than it had taken them to get to the house, skilfully avoiding the route he'd apparently gotten his own car stuck in, which had forced him to double back to the house, and explained his presence. Mustang had a headache that seemed to split his skull and his concentration in half, though, and once he'd finally been settled into a bed at the doctor's, he'd had Lieutenant Hawkeye explain that one to him again.

Despite never getting back to town to find them a doctor as instructed, though, Havoc did know of one anyway, having gotten a glimpse of her little practice – and _her_ – on their initial drive through town, and of course remembered the way.

She was a tall, curvy woman in her early thirties, if Mustang had to take a guess, with light brown hair and eyes, and a thin, tight-lipped curl to her mouth that gave her the impression of always frowning. She'd ushered them inside, Mustang irritably escorted by Havoc, and Hawkeye carrying the girl, who'd either gone back to sleep or was faking it. He couldn't tell just by the look of her. The doctor, whose name Mustang had heard as Whitfield, had ushered Hawkeye into the patient's room to lie down the girl, whilst she directed Havoc and himself into the stuffy little bedroom that used to be reserved for guests. She explained she never received any anymore though, not since her husband had passed away during the Civil War – everyone she knew was everyone he'd known – and the room was rather the worst for ware, but since they all insisted the girl was the patient, and Mustang was "perfectly fine", it would do. It seemed a rather cruel statement accompanied with her expression. Like everyone else in town, it seemed she had little love for the Military.

"Mild concussion…" she had concluded in her crisp voice, lowering her small flashlight from his eyes a second time and releasing his head from her firm, albeit smooth-fingered, grip. She pocketed the light along with her hand into her white jacket, and walked briskly from the room without another word.

Mustang had pinched his nose, annoyed, but had waited in silence for her to return with a pair of cloths enclosing thick, hard blocks of ice.

"One for your head," she practically hit him with it, and, wincing slightly, he replaced her hand on the cloth with his own. "One for your ankle," he was sure she hit him with that one too, and, having to bend forward to reach, Roy just barely managed to catch the cloth and hold it to his ankle before it fell from his leg and off the bed.

She'd practically shoved him down onto the dusty pillow and commanded him to stay while she checked on the girl, after which she'd walked briskly from the room once more. Lieutenant Havoc hovered a moment before politely excusing himself for no reason, but Mustang had heard him call to the doctor about whether he might be able to help with something.

Hawkeye had settled herself into the chair by the bed, and when he inquired mockingly if she wasn't going to drag the Second Lieutenant back in here, she'd worn a wicked smile, saying she was sure Doctor Whitfield knew how to dispose of pesky men.

"Bad conduct, though…" Roy had muttered, staring at the ceiling, and what he was sure was either a fly or a spider. There followed several lengthy, rather tense silences in the space of the apparent fifteen minutes the clock had ticked off. Broken by polite inquires – "How is your leg feeling now, Colonel?" "Were _you_ hurt in any way, Lieutenant…?" "I wasn't close enough to the house at the time, no, Colonel." "Tell me again what Lieutenant Havoc was doing back there?" – when it felt like the silence was going on for too long. He hadn't reported on what he'd seen in the house yet, or about his mildly cryptic comment that convinced her to let him go down on his own in the first place – "Now it's a little personal" – and she hadn't asked, which only meant she realized now was probably not the best time for that conversation, but it didn't mean she wasn't concerned about it, or curious, or dying to confront him. All of which he knew she was – he couldn't see it on her face, she was too good at not revealing her thoughts there, but he could sense it in the way she sat, how she held her hands, or didn't hold them, on her lap. He'd been with her long enough.

Presently those feelings were overridden by some form of uncertainty, or guilt.

He prodded, "Well, Lieutenant?"

"There was _something_ I neglected to mention earlier, Colonel," she said, rather tentatively – not in fear of being reprimanded; she rarely cared or listened when he gave her a firm talking-to, mainly because it was always berating her for doing something he thought marginally insane in order to protect him regardless of her own safety. She'd insist that _he_ should be the one more careful, dismiss his dressing-down of her behaviour, and conclude that she had known exactly what she was doing, and wouldn't still be alive if she hadn't been. _Unlike him_, she didn't add.

_This_ was tentative more because it was an uncertainty, because she could not explain whatever it was she'd seen.

"The girl has, on her shoulder, a carving," she looked at him. "In the shape of…what I suppose, is a transmu—"

"Colonel Mustang," Doctor Whitfield came through the door, brisk and demanding his attention, cutting the Lieutenant off. But he'd heard what she'd been about to say – _transmutation circle_. "Feel any better?"

The doctor had paused three paces in, hands in her jacket pockets, looking at him down her nose, her thin lips pursed as she took in his position – still sitting.

Mustang opened his mouth, not to reply, but rather to enquire about the girl, only to be cut off before he'd managed a sound, "My other patient is currently resting. She seems in near-perfect health apart from some shock. She was awake, but refused to speak. I intend to keep her here tonight, but I expect you must have questions for her, Colonel – I suggest you return in the morning. _Late_ morning, and ask her then."

Lieutenant Havoc hovered in the doorway behind the doctor. Hawkeye glanced at him. The only thing that really registered from what the doctor had said right then, through her quick pace and his thick head, came out of his mouth in one word, "_Return_?"

"Yes," she said bluntly. "Since this is my place of residence, _Colonel_," she spat the word, not bothering to hide her displeasure at having the military in her 'place of residence'. "And since your companion has taken up the only other available bed apart from my own, I am delighted to say I have no room for you. There is an inn a little farther into town. Go there." It sounded very much like an order, and some part of Mustang entertained the notion of hiring this woman for the Military, thinking she'd make for a competent asset.

"Is _this_ not an available bed I'm sitting on?" he asked impatiently, though, gesturing.

"Bed, yes. Available, no."

"But – I am a _patient_. I have a sprained ankle, a concussion—" he gave a violent sneeze. "A cold…"

"Drink plenty of fluids," she said absently, and addressed his Lieutenants. "I gather you are capable of treating those unfortunate accidents?"

"Heh, sure," Havoc muttered, faintly amused.

"Doctor Whitfield," Hawkeye spoke up, coming to her feet. "If I may – since she is _our_ companion, and a vital witness to an on-going Military investigation, I think the Colonel would appreciate it if one of us could stay near her until we can escort her back to East City. The Colonel is in no condition, however," she said pointedly, and he scowled, guessing at where she was going, and inwardly pouty at having to relent. "And will be too much trouble. Lieutenant Havoc can take him to the inn, and care for him there. I would ask your permission to let me stay here tonight, to guard the girl. Our enemies are numerous and unknown, we cannot take such a risk."

"I just said I have no space, Lieutenant."

"I shall sleep on the floor if need be, Doctor, but I am already well-rested as it is. You need not have to worry about that."

Doctor Whitfield seemed to consider this, watching his First Lieutenant with a pensive expression. Finally she said, "Very well. That makes fair sense, Lieutenant. You are welcome to stay. Lieutenant Havoc, I expect you to escort Colonel Mustang from my property at once. You may keep the ice I prepared for you and return the cloth in the morning. Clean and dry. Lieutenant Hawkeye, follow me."

She said all this very curtly, quickly, and had turned on her heel to leave before Mustang could decide whether or not to tell her not to order them about. But then she paused once more, and looked back at him, hesitant now.

"Something else, Doctor?" he asked stiffly, annoyed. He sniffed, and rubbed at his nose, wishing he didn't feel like he needed to, but the damn thing felt wet and runny again and who knew what he'd done with his handkerchief – probably left it behind in the car.

"You are the Flame _Alchemist_, Colonel Mustang?" there was the slightest emphasis on 'Alchemist', making him instantly suspicious.

"Yes," he replied though, albeit warily, watching her expression closely.

It stayed stony-faced, although her eyes narrowed slightly. "I know little of alchemy, Colonel, and I pay little attention to the flapping tongues in town. There are other doctors in the village people gossip to. Not me. But I can figure out for myself whatever it is you are investigating; it has something to do with alchemy, doesn't it?"

"How do you figure, Doctor?" Mustang asked.

"I am aware the girl's father is an alchemist. You would not be here for her, but perhaps for him, and since you came in with her, I've been wondering where her father is, and how she came to be in your care."

"Then you know her? You didn't say when we came in," he accused right back.

"No, I didn't say," she seemed to be considering him, but then abruptly turned and left, beckoning the First Lieutenant to follow.

"I will see you in the morning, Colonel," Hawkeye said, giving him a curt nod, and in her eyes the promise to dig a little deeper into what the doctor had said. "Take care of him," she turned pointedly at Havoc, who jerked upright and promptly saluted her, before exiting the room.

Havoc snorted, "Women…"

* * *

I could tell by the way the mattress beneath my body sunk more than normal. My bed didn't do that.

The pillow against the side of my face felt much too hard to be mine. The duvet covering me didn't have the soft, thick feel of the blanket I usually slept under.

It wasn't wrapped all around me like a cocoon, either. It was just draped casually over half of me, up to my middle where I lay on my side, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. I could touch the floor with the tips of my fingers if I stretched them out a bit – somehow my bedposts had gotten shorter...

My right hand palm against my eyelids, I kept them shut and rubbed my forehead with my forefinger, thoughtful. Perhaps I was dreaming. One of those very real-feeling dreams I sometimes had, where I'd be so convinced I was walking to the kitchen and getting coffee that I could almost taste it, only to realize spontaneously that I was still in bed and only dreaming.

Yeah, that was it.

So I rolled over onto my back, pulled the covers up to my chin and settled my hands on my stomach, perfectly content with continuing to sleep through this dream, when I thought my stomach felt a little...flat. Firm. So I moved my hands under my shirt and poked at my tummy, felt my sides – where had all the chubbiness gone? What had happened to the bumps, the love-handles around my waist – I could feel nothing but smooth skin. Not to mention my fingers – slender – and my nails – shorter, smoother around the edges.

What was going on here?

Wait – dreaming, remember…

I pushed the covers back again, raised one arm in the air and ran my hand over it – it was definitely thinner. Both were. I felt one arm and then the other, over my shoulders, down my chest, to my—

No. No, definitely not mine.

I swallowed, and realized I'd been gritting my teeth the whole time, my eyes screwed just a little tighter.

I was not asleep anymore. No, I was definitely awake, and I was definitely not in my own bed, and above all, I was definitely not _me_.

I sat up at once, eyes open, feeling half as though I'd just forced myself awake from another scary experience of sleep paralysis. But it hadn't been that, because despite there being nothing but darkness around me, I was definitely – _definitely_ – awake.

A few seconds must have passed before I realized I was breathing much too quickly, my heart pumping fast against the hand I had up to my chest, not remembering exactly how it got there.

I looked around, blinked a few times as my eyes became a little more accustomed to the dark. To my right was a large, rectangular shape through which a light shown, discolored to a white-grey by what must have been a thin curtain, because it had the distinct appearance of a window.

But it wasn't a complete rectangle; there was an odd, triangular shape in one corner, which I realized, after a moment, was a lampshade. Eager, a fair bit confused, and mildly scared all at the same time, I reached for it, meaning to find the switch that turned it on somewhere around it, but I'd misjudged the distance and the next thing I knew I'd gone tumbling off the bed face-first, hitting my head against my arm, and my knee against wood. I lay on my side, clutching my knee; sure there'd be a bruise in the morning. Some kind of yelp might have escaped me when I fell, but I couldn't remember having used my voice. In fact, my throat was so dry I was convinced I hadn't used it in years. Or, if nothing else I'd just not had anything to drink for days.

For a moment I thought of just staying down there, closing my eyes and going back to sleep. Maybe I _was_ dreaming after all. If I shut my eyes long enough, I'd realize I'd been in bed this whole time. Just dreaming.

I _did_ close my eyes then, but no matter how long I stayed there, the feel of hard wood didn't change into soft sheets. My knee didn't stop hurting. My breathing had slowed down, my heart felt a little more normal, but my throat was still dry, and my arms were still thin, my belly still flat, my fingers still leaner than I remembered them. This was insane. Perhaps this was one of those crazy movies and I'd somehow switched bodies with one of my sisters – _Good grief, anything but that._

I pushed myself off the floor, crawled toward the end table I could barely make out just ahead, and feeling my way up to the lamp I found the switch and flicked it on.

Sharp, pinkish light filled my vision when the lamp came on right in front of me, and I blinked a few times, rubbed at my eyes and looked away, having to get used to this light now. Once I did it wasn't so bright, and it had only been the shade over the lamp that was pink.

The room was cast in a pale glow that barely illuminated everything to the opposite corner, but I could see everything now. A small, single-sized bed, the end table, a dresser in the other corner, a closed wooden door against one wall, another beyond the bed, were the only things in the small room – and a mirror. A full-length mirror beside the door in front of the bed.

I stared at it. I stared at everything – this wasn't my room; this wasn't even my house. Had I been kidnapped?

I took a couple more breaths, trying to convince myself mentally that this was no time to panic, for one, and there were stranger things than a kidnapping to consider. Either way, however, my beating heart seemed to argue, either scenario warranted panic – demanded it, really. This was the _perfect_ time to panic.

I made to get up and walk to the mirror at least three times, taking two deep breaths between every try before I finally got to my feet. I paused then, though, looking down at myself – a very _short_ pair of shorts I wouldn't be caught dead in ordinarily, and a loose-fitting shirt with thin straps, was all I seemed to be wearing. Apart from underwear, of course. I thought. I fingered my hips just to be sure. Yes, there they were. Panties. Good.

I shook my head – _priorities_, not that wearing underwear _wasn't_ one, but – and started walking. Tentatively at first, like I were testing my legs out, and then I felt stupid for it and just _walked_.

I stopped short before stepping in front of the mirror though, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Then that seemed silly, too. I shook my head again, shook out my arms a little, feeling as though they were shaking when they clearly weren't.

_Like ripping off a Band-Aid._

I practically hopped in front of the mirror, facing myself – and then my breath caught in my throat. A gasp – maybe accompanied by a little squeak, and then all I could see were my own, wide, grey eyes staring back at me.

No. Not me.

I swallowed, took in the rest of me a second time – a third, a fourth. I touched my shoulders, my sides, my hips – _not mine_. That was _my face_, though. Those were _my eyes_ I was looking at, _my _lips, _my_ nose – even my freckles! But my cheeks were less chubby, my eyebrows thinned out a bit more – and this wasn't my hair. It was thick, nearly elbow-length, curly, and – _dark brown_.

My eyes passed over my reflection one more time, and when I met them again I noticed rather than felt the tears in them. What the_ hell_ was going on? What the _fucking_ hell?!

To my left the door opened, cutting through the silence too loudly, startling me so bad my whole body gave one violent shake and I spun about, grabbing hold of the side of the mirror with one hand when I thought I might fall, the other held up in front of me like that was going to protect me from whoever came in.

She was taller and older than me, wearing a white coat, with her curly brown hair up in a messy-looking bun like she'd gone to bed with it tied and had only now got up, but she wasn't wearing pajamas though…a nap then. I had to shake my head again.

"Stay back," I croaked, not sure she'd heard. She didn't move; her hand still on the doorknob, the other in a pocket. Her eyes were a little wide, like she was the one startled and not me. Her lips parted slightly, and slowly she pulled her hand from her pocket.

I recoiled, trading my hold on the mirror for a hand against the wall as I backed away, "Don't – don't come any closer," I said quickly, watching her hand come up empty from her pocket. Palms raised defensively now, she stepped slowly closer as she spoke, "It's alright, Lee…"

_Lee?_ Had she just called me Lee?

"It's Doctor Whitfield…you remember?"

Was I supposed to know her?

She'd taken three steps toward me, which was practically three more paces away in this small room, and I'd stopped moving back, my hand having gotten to the other door, which led I knew not where, before I thought to say again, "I said no closer!"

She stopped mid-stride, and took half a step back, "Okay, okay… We can talk from here."

Something black and blue appeared beyond her in the doorway and I shifted my gaze, stared open-mouthed.

"You're awake," said the woman, walking into the room before the other one – what did she say, Doctor Something-Field? – swiftly held up a hand to halt her, shifting her gaze from me but not turning away. I was too perplexed, and fascinated, to care about what she was doing, though. This was not possible…

"Stay back, Lieutenant," said the doctor, and all I really heard was _Lieutenant_. "She's a little startled. I should just talk to her for a minute. Can we do that, Lee?" she was looking back at me again now, but I wasn't paying attention. "Lee…?"

She certainly looked like…_Hawkeye_. _Riza Hawkeye_.

She held my eye, and hers, reddish-brown just like in the story, seemed questioning. I had no answer for them though – I had no idea what I was doing here, either. I had no idea if this was even real. It couldn't be. What was I saying? What was I _thinking?_

Her hair was blonde, loose, thick strands framing her face, that distinct fringe, and the rest of it casually swept back over her shoulders. Those pants – half of a military uniform. She was even wearing the boots. The only thing missing was her jacket and her hair tied with a clip and she'd be the perfect Riza Hawkeye.

"Lee, dear—" Doctor What's-her-face's hand was right in front of me, reaching for my shoulder, snapping me from my reverie and I had the door beside me by the knob and was turning it and rushing into the next room without knowing where I was going or what for before I knew I'd even thought of doing it. I fumbled with the key that was in the lock, and managed to keep the door shut and turn it before the doctor could force it open from the other side – and she was trying.

"Lee! I can't help you in there!"

I turned my back to the door. It was dark. Maybe I'd locked myself in a closet – that would be just my luck. I felt at the wall on both sides of the door for a light switch and accidently hit a hanging string with the back of my hand. I tugged at it, and a bulb came to life overhead, illuminating a bathroom. I sighed. This wasn't so bad. At least if I had to go to the bathroom…

The women outside were still speaking – with me, with each other, until there was a moment's silence, followed by a timid knock on the door. Then she spoke, "Lee? This is First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye…" oh, it _sounded_ like her. This was turning into a very convincing cosplay. "I understand you're feeling a bit scared, but I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to keep you safe… Do you understand?"

I swallowed, and then remembered my dry throat, my scratchy voice, and I marched over to the sink, turned a faucet and gulped down as much of the clear liquid as I could in one go before splashing my face with water as well. _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

But when I opened my eyes, my hair was still brown in the mirror.

"We found you at an old, abandoned house…we suppose you were there with your father? But we didn't find him there. We're looking for him, and you're the only one that can help us with that. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to make sure you're alright…"

_Alright?_ I lost how many pounds seemingly overnight, dyed my hair, woke up in a strange bed in a strange doctor's place, and was listening to a _fictional character_ talk me down from apparently freaking out beyond belief. No, I was not _alright_, and if I _were_ freaking out beyond belief it would be justified, dammit.

"Do you think you could come out here and talk to us? Have something to eat? Tell us what you remember…?"

What do I remember?

I looked at myself – 'myself' – in the mirror.

"…Where am I?"

"Doctor Whitfield's. Isolde Whitfield – you don't remember her?"

"No, I mean the town – or city – what is this?"

"A small town named Liesenburgh. In the East."

"I don't understand," I could hear the doctor say. "She was here not a week ago. And we both checked her before and when you brought her in earlier – there was no sign of a concussion or anything! She shouldn't be having trouble remembering."

I looked at the mirror. Liesenburgh – that wasn't familiar. I was in here not a week ago? They found me in an abandoned house? I was supposed to be with my father…?

What _do_ I remember?

None of the above.

"Who are you?" I whispered at my reflection. "Why do you look like me? What am I doing in _your _body? _Where_ are you…? Where am _I_…?"


End file.
